


A Story Has to Start Somewhere

by RoseBlackwood



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Definite Interfacing...later, F/M, Ratchet origin story, Some Fluff, Sort Of, first fic, some gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:22:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseBlackwood/pseuds/RoseBlackwood
Summary: Barbarian AURatchet is a medic in Praxus fixing up bots as his grouchy self, but what happens when he finds himself falling for a former barbarian fem, with a nasty record of fighting in the underground pits for money?





	1. The Regular

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there world, this is my first ever fanfic. I was inspired by KanonKita and Spoons888 to get my reclusive ass out of my comfort zone, and I'm super excited about finally posting some of my writing! Hope someone(s) enjoys this story. Also, I'm a little new to the Barbarian AU (but I freaking love it!), so if I get some of the terminology wrong, don't be shy to hit me up in the comment section.

* * *

 

 _This is ridiculous!_   The ill-tempered medic grumbled under his breath as he tugged at a difficult knot of wiring.  The young sparkling on his examination table whined melodramatically.  Earning the bot trying to help him, a searing look from his maternal-bot standing next to the table.

 

“I’m not paying you to make it worst,” the fem-bot sneered at Ratchet, “I’ll take my business elsewhere if this isn’t done within the next half-hour.”

 

Boiling with rage, the medic’s steady servos quickly unraveled the juncture of chaos.  The stupid brat had been foolish enough to accept his friend’s dare of _removing_ the plating over his shin, and letting some of the younger femes _braid_ the delicate circuitry underneath.  His carrier had rushed in to his makeshift hospital with her howling offspring in her arms, a scowl plastered on her disapproving lips as she demanded the medic’s full attention.

 

Ratchet had been quick to shove a cube of medic-grade down the menace’s throat to dull his pain receptors, but to his horror, the brat continued to sob dramatically for the aesthetic.  Sour from the constant barrage of audial splitting shrieks, and the consistent snap of an irritated caregiver.  Ratchet promised himself a delightful evening in the company of a bottle of high-grade he had stashed away.

 

But in the present, the medic was on the verge of shoving the nearest medical instrument down the little wailer’s throat.  Finally pulling the last wire free, Ratchet readjusted the long tendrils so that they would fit comfortable under the panel.  He’d be damned if the pair returned because of a little irritation.  Shifting the small sheet of metal back over the opening, the medic bolted it back into place.

 

Letting out a relieved sigh, he turned to the fem standing protectively over her sparkling.  “All done, now get out of my clinic.”  His inner-grouch refused to hide his irritation as the sparkling still sniveled pathetically.

 

The feme looked appalled, but after inspecting her offspring’s uninjured frame.  She nodded and passed the medic her Shanix card.  Ratchet placed all of his equipment back onto his trolley before wheeling off to the back of the clinic to feed the card into a deposit.  Once the appropriate transaction was complete, he returned to the fem cooing over her sparkling, and returned the chip.

 

She looked up at him, less viciously.  “Thank you, Doctor.”

 

“Megh, just grab your kid and get out of here,” Ratchet grumbled, too drained to offer any hospitality to the troublesome pair.  Nodding, she plucked the brat off of the table and took her leave.  Ratchet followed her to the door, being sure she left, before letting his frame relax against the wall of his waiting room.

 

“ _Nope_ , definitely never having sparklings,” Ratchet grumbled in an ex-vent.

 

“Oh, but your sparklings would be so cute if they had your grouchy attitude Ratchet,” a pained laugh escaped from a cloaked figure on one of the waiting room’s benches.

 

Another ex-vent heaved the tired medics frame when he recognized one of his regulars.  “What can I do for you today, Windsheer?”  Grimacing, he could see bits of the immense damage on the femes frame.

 

However, it surprised him when she held out a detached leg in her digits.  Noticing his look of horror, she attempted a humored smile, but it didn’t crinkle her optics like they should have.  “You should see the other guy.”

 

* * *

 

 

­­­­

Several hours later, long after the sun had tucked itself behind the barren landscape beyond the safe walls of the city, Praxus.  Ratchet was still hard at work reattaching the gears and circuits of the feme’s thigh to her hip.  Even if the leg were attached, her frame was littered with gashes and leaking tubes that needed his attention.  He had already patched the worst of the leaks, but if he didn’t get to the rest soon, it would cause more problems later.

 

The stubborn feme had refused any pain killers he offered, claiming that it would be better to save it for the next sparkling that bawled over a twisted wire.  She remained still on the medical slab with her good leg bent and her dented helm turned towards the window above the table.

 

“Hey Ratchet, how much longer is this going to take?” she finally asked.

 

The medic snapped a glowering optic at his patient.  She either didn’t notice, or ignored it.  He turned back to work on the jumble of misplaced circuitry.  Braided wires seemed like a game compared to the damage of a severed leg.  An annoyed ex-vent shook his shoulders.

 

“With this amount of damage,” his servo gestured to the whole of the mangled leg, “it could take me weeks to repair you.”

 

Her optics circled wide in fear as her face swiveled back to face him.  “Weeks!?” she nearly shrieked.  “Ratchet, I don’t have weeks!  My next fight is in two days!  I have to be able to at least stand, I can’t-”

 

Ratchet quickly cut her off, noticing her patched tubes beginning to leak from the exertion as she tried to leave the slab.  He clamped a servo on her shoulder and waist to keep her buoyed.

 

“You need to calm down,” he growled, forcing her back down to meet the metal of the table.  “If you over-exert yourself, you’ll reopen your wounds and it’ll take even longer to heal.”

 

Her optics were still wide with panic, but she didn’t try to forces herself back up.  “What can you do in two days?” she asked, her ex-vent hitched with fear.

 

Ratchet’s optics dimmed with exhaustion.  He off-lined them for a moment, to bid farewell to his evening and bottle of High-grade. 

 

He opened them again to stare into the vibrant red optics of the former barbarian.  “I’m too nice,” his grumble fell into a defeated ex-vent as he looked back at the torn leg.  “I’ll do my best to make it so you can move it, but you _have_ to be careful not to strain it too much or we might be looking at replacing the whole damn thing, and I don’t know any vendors with a spare leg to share.”  Ratchet took a second to reevaluate that last part before giving the still panicked bot a sly smirk, “at least not legally.”

 

Alas, his humor was wasted on her still widened optics.  She still tried to force a smile to reassure him, or maybe herself.  “Th-thank you Ratchet.”

 

His smirk was replaced with a scowl at her false change of mood.  That was the one thing that truly pissed him off.  When bots put up a farce to appeal to others.

 

“Let’s not waste any more time dwelling on your paranoia then,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the complex procedure.

* * *

 


	2. A Bad Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made a boo-boo. I forgot to post two chapters between Chapter One and "Chapter Two." I'm going to try to fix it, but I'm a little technologically challenged. So, without further ado, lets see just how badly I can screw this up!

* * *

 

The overly-pessimistic disk of light peaked over the horizon, the city transitioning from a night setting to a happy, _friendly_ morning.  Ratchet _hated_ it.

 

Windsheer had remained awake through the whole procedure, and stared absently out the window as the roofs were caressed by the sun.  Her leg wasn’t completely connected yet, but there was less junk cluttering the gaps.  A steady pattern of snapping gears and wires was becoming more predictable, but Ratchet’s tired optics were still warily peering around the entangled mess.

 

Windsheer hadn’t offered an explanation to the massive destruction to her frame, nor had he asked.  That was their silent deal, she didn’t talk about her work, and he just fixed her up without question.

 

But it had been evident that something with massive servos had gripped her torso and ripped the leg from its bearings.  It would also explain the distracting dents curving her waist and chest plating.

 

Undoubtedly painful, but she didn’t so much as wince, when Ratchet rummaged around for a wire to connect with its severed partner, or tugged on a stubborn gear to screw it back into place.

 

“Ratchet, it’s morning,” she announced, as if it was a curious event.  Propping herself onto her elbows, she looked over to the medic expectantly.

 

The medic only grunted as he continued with his work.  “Ratchet, I have to go soon.”

 

His helm snapped up at that last bit.  He turned to level her with a strict glare.  “What?  You want to just get up and go for a morning stroll on a _half_ -severed leg!?”

 

On a good day, Ratchet made for poor company.  On the days that he was sleep deprived and cranky- _er_ , he was a down right turbo-dog to deal with.  Windsheer was a bot in a million, who could not only deal with his moodiness, but actually found it entertaining.

 

A charming smile curled her lip, “would you rather I stay with you all day as well?  So selfish Ratchet, even after you’ve had your servos on me all.  Night.  Long.”  Ratchet’s jaw dropped in shock as she threw her helm back, optics off-lined, and released a lustful moan from her vocalizer.

 

Exhausted, embarrassed, pissed, and now feeling harassed by the wicked smile she sent him.  Ratchet had had enough.  Tossing his tools down in defeat, he threw his servos up in surrender and starting walking away from the slab.  “Fine!  Fine!  By all means, go ahead and prance around the streets and reap my long hours of work.  Fling your arm off while you’re at it, cause you know good ole’ doctor Ratchet will patch you right up, no problem!”

 

His words dripped with sass and irritation.  Windsheer burst into a fit of laughter as he left the med bay to grab the supplies for a temporary brace.  A poor attempt to preserve his intensive labor.  When he returned to his patient, her laughing fit had trailed off and she now sat at the edge of the medical slab.  Her good leg dangling over, and her damaged one curled carefully underneath her.  Her helm was tilted back to the window overlooking the city.

 

The rising sun delicately kissed her frame, contouring her features in the golden light.  Even with the brutal battering, her warrior frame clearly displayed the sheer power suppressed beneath her silver plating, and though the lack of colorful paint wasn’t by social standards  _stylish_.  The plain silverish-gray paint had an appealing effect on the optics whenever her slim frame twisted and turned.  Ratchet had often found a disobedient optic straying to the dazzling reflections created by the sheets of metal.  If not for the persistent scarring and the constant gaping in her plating, she would have been irresistible to any Mech that was fortunate enough to see her cross their path.

 

In earlier years, Ratchet had strongly advised a change in career, but Windsheer, as a much colder and ferocious barbarian, up-right refused any of his input in her personal affairs.  Over the course of a decade, she had periodically returned to his clinic in worse conditions, but he rarely confronted her anymore.

 

A severed leg was mild compared to some of the more extensive wounds that she had sustained from prior engagements in the ring.  The medic bot was still trying to piece together in his processor the sense behind throwing yourself into a cage with some slag-eating scum and brawling for your life to entertain a crowd of High-casters.

 

In these passing moments, Ratchet could almost forget both of their struggles.  Just watching her softened optics scan the city.  But the tugging at his spark reawakened his stalled processor, and his servos would quickly get back to their work.  He approached the berth and set out his supplies so that he could patch up what he could with the time he had left. 

 

Without acknowledging him, Windsheer stretched her bad leg out for him to bandage.  He paused though.  Looking up, he tried to catch her optics.  “You may want that Medical-grade.  This is going hurt.”

 

She responded with a shake of her head, still not looking away from the window.  “I’m a big fem, Ratchet.  I can handle it.”  He paused for another moment, before obliging her.

 

He slid a strip of metal between the exposed circuitry and the panel of her thigh.  Momentarily adjusting it to get the best fit.  Once in place, he quickly nicked a precise line over where he would screw in a few bolts to keep the leg connected to the hip.  The medic ignited a small blowtorch, dialing the stream to a narrow line to get the right precision.  He didn’t miss the scowl deepening Windsheer’s facial features, as the intense heat started softening the metal.  The corners of his own lips curled up righteously.  _Big fem, my aft!_

 

Other than her frown, Windsheer didn’t display any other outward signs of her discomfort.  She didn’t so much as squirm when Ratchet twisted the first screw through the metal.  Six more screws were implanted to keep the brace in place.  Ratchet twisted the last one more tightly than the others earning an unamused grimace.  A slightly wheezed ex-vent hissed, “ _Sadist_.”

 

Ratchet smirked, before getting back to re-patching energon lines and welding minor gaps back in place.  The sun was raised above the city’s roofs, when Windsheer’s anxiousness made it hard for her to hold still.  Ratchet’s servo grasped her fore-arm firmly, to try and steady her while he finished off one more gap.

 

“ _Ratchet_ ,” she practically whined when he refused to let her hop off the berth to run off.

 

His brow quirked in place of a verbal response.  “Your energon levels are dangerously low, and I still have a few more welds I can get to while you refuel.”

 

Satisfied with his work, he placed the blow torch on his cart before turning to give Windsheer a stern look.  “I’ll be back with a cube.  Just give me two seconds, and don’t move from this slab or I’ll restrain you the next time you bring a pede into my clinic.”  He hoped the warning would keep her in place for a moment.  But he was fully prepared to carry out his threat if she didn’t.

 

He turned his back, but stopped at the door frame to send her one last glare, before retreating to the back of the clinic to dispense two cubes from the storage room.  He was only a little bit disheartened when he returned to an empty operating room.

* * *

 


	3. Cuffed

* * *

Despite not having recharged the night before, Ratchet still had a clinic to run and a whole shipment of supplies to organize.  He didn’t have much time to worry about Windsheer’s condition with a wave of nagging bots gnawing at his patience.  Most came in with minor injuries, and a few Mechs had come in with gnarly gashes from a spontaneous street fight they had all played a servo in.  Ratchet charged them extra for their stupidity.

 

Closer to evening, as the city was winding down for the night, Ratchet had caught some time to organize his shelves and sanitize energon stained equipment (mostly from Windsheer’s wounds).  It was in this relaxing time that Ratchet heard, with a grave sense of dread, the torturous *Bing* of the clinic’s front door opening to admit, yet _another_ , patient.

 

He was half-determined to stay in the back of the clinic and ignore whoever was out front before considering the bot that was most likely to have come in at this hour.  Stifling the irrational flutter of excitement, the medic rushed to pack away a few spare parts and shuffled to the lobby to find a familiar cloaked figure on the waiting bench.

 

Glancing up at his approach, Windsheer drew the hood back to reveal an energon splattered helm.  Her warm smile belied the seriousness of the situation.  Ratchet’s pedes came to a screeching halt.  _What the scrap?  She didn’t say anything about having a fight tonight!_

 

Her fake smile was still in place, and his processor swam with confusion, before he firmly settled himself.  _Fine, I'll play your game._

 

A broad smile peeled his lips back to reveal his clenched dentae.  “Well isn’t it a _pleasure_ to see you back here so soon, Windsheer?”

 

The sudden drop of her smile and drooping of her short door-wings would have been comical, if it weren’t for the sheer furry of Ratchet’s inner-rage.

 

“I was a little bit hurt by your sudden departure this morning, even after I went out of my way to be courteous to you.”  He advanced towards her suddenly startled form.  “But, I’m willing to forgive you this time.”

 

He stood over her now, he cataloged her speechless expression as she tried to figure out how to react to his false demeanor.  “ _WHY_ , I think I’ll even keep my promise to you.”  An energon valve popped above his optic, betraying his truly pissed-off mood.  “Aren’t I _nice_ , Windsheer?”

 

Dawning blanched her facial features as she realized what was coming.  She made a desperate scramble to get up and away from Ratchet’s looming bulk.  She even went so far as to leap, with a _poorly_ attached leg, past his outstretched servos.  Snaking his arms around her waist, he easily hefted her onto his shoulder and turned to the door leading back further into his lair.

 

Teetering precariously, Windsheer desperately dug her digits into any crevice available in Ratchet’s plating, trying to stabilize herself.  But the ride was brought to an abrupt end as Ratchet, not so kindly, dropped her aft to a slab.  Before she had a chance to try and escape again, a cuff was clasped around her wrist and a chain joined the other end to a bar on the berth.  She jiggled the cuff uselessly, before pulling at it teasingly.

 

“I’m being _nice_ by not using stasis cuffs,” Ratchet’s fake smile had already slipped back to his signature scowl.  “Now get still so I can get a good look at your helm.”

 

Windsheer’s narrowed optics widened in surprise.  “My helm?”  She lifted a curious servo up to caress the blue liquid, before pulling it back to look at her caked fingers.  Her widened optics relaxed with realization.  “Oh, I know where this is from!”  A knowing smile spread across her face.

 

But when she caught sight of Ratchet’s expectant expression, her cheeks turned a telling shade of pink.  She turned her helm away from his glower and sheepishly tapped her index fingers together.  “Oh, I know you’re _not_ going to like this.”

 

A sharp grunt prompted her to elaborate.  With her optics glued to the floor, her helm swung back around to face Ratchet’s chassis.  She adopted the demeanor of a sparkling caught with their servos still sticky from an unauthorized energon treat.  Ratchet made a mental note that there didn’t _appear_ to be any fractures or penetrations for the energon to leak from.  A damp rag, or a hot solvent shower, would probably wash it away.  But that left a less favorable prediction left.

 

“What.  Did. You.  Do?” Ratchet growled.  If he hadn’t been observing her so closely, he wouldn’t have noticed the shift of her free-servo as she pulled her cloak closer.  _Oh, no you don’t!_

 

With a flourish, Ratchet’s servos reached out and unclasped the fabric from her frame and tossed it uselessly to the floor.  Scanners weren’t needed to see what she had done.

 

Looking anywhere _but_ at Ratchet, she squirmed under his intense gaze as his optics shifted over the worsened damage.

 

“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!” he nearly roared.

 

Several of the welds he had mended that very morning, had been reopened and were oozing fresh energon.  More scrapes racked her frame, and he could count several new dents.  But what was worst, the thing that he had put the most time and care into, was bared to the elements.  The temporary bridge that had connected Windsheer’s thigh to her hip was missing.  However, the holes for the screws were in perfect condition.  Which meant the screws had been purposely taken out.  Which meant she had _deliberately_ taken it off!

 

Another realization clicked in Ratchet’s raging processor, but he wanted her to _say_ it!

 

“Windsheer, what did you do!?” The question came out on a hissed ex-vent.

 

Peeking her optics up, she flinched at the sheer look of doom on the medic’s face.  “U-um, I-I…” She mumbled

 

“Speak up!” Ratchet boomed disapprovingly.

 

“I transformed into my alt-mode to get home, and one of my fuel lines gushed everywhere!” she relented dejectedly.  Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she accepted the wrongness of her actions.

 

Ratchet nearly blew a gasket.  His optics could have pierced the thickest armor with its fierceness.  Releasing several heated ex-vents, Ratchet debated whether or not to explode at her for her sheer recklessness, or scold her for letting someone beat the processor out of her helm during a fight!

 

He decided to do both.

 

“WHAT THE FRAG WERE YOU PROCESSING!!?  Transforming with that amount damage?  You’re lucky to be operating!!  Did you have your helm smashed in the ground too many times to configure simple information!!?” Ratchet’s rage came off his frame in scorching EM waves.

 

Windsheer withstood the blasts, but that was only because her engine was beginning to roar from the outburst of her own outburst.  Ratchet didn’t veer away when her optics snapped up to level with his.

 

“WHAT KIND OF DOCTOR YELLS AT HIS PATIENTS!!?  Did some bot shove a lead pipe up your aft!?”

 

They growled at each other, sparks fizzling between their optics.  But the tension was cut through with ease, as Windsheer’s lips snapped back in a mischievous smirk.  Ratchet was stunned to the spot, when those same lips smacked a sparking kiss to his cheek, his former flare evaporating like steam.  She withdrew just as sharply, leaving the poor medic to palm his scorched cheek.

 

“Thank you for caring so much.  It’s really sweet of you!” she hummed contently, as she sat back comfortably on the raised slab.

 

He stumbled to find the right words to correct her, but had to shut his mouth and swirl his glossa around before trying again.  But before his lips could part again, a digit was softly placed against them.

 

Windsheer’s optics had dimmed to a lustful glow.  “Hush sweet doctor.  We both know what you’re trying to say is a filthy lie.  Best to keep that glossa tucked tight or, I might take it!”  To emphasize, her own glossa flicked out to trace her lips hungrily.  Ratchet’s face was flushed purple by the indignities that this fem insisted on plaguing his pride with.

 

Drawing back, he glared at his _patient_ spitefully.  She blew a sly kiss at him, before readjusting herself so that her injured leg was laid straight and her other was bent.  With both servos, she gestured to the whole of her frame.  “I’m _all_ yours, doc!”

 

Scowling, Ratchet left the room, relieved to know that she wasn’t going anywhere with that cuff locking her down.  He was back with two cups of energon and his fully loaded medical tray.  Looking at the seductively posed fem with disdain, she dangled the broken cuff from one of her index digits.  Smirking wickedly, as a heavy ex-vent left his frame.

 

It was going to be another long night!

* * *

 


	4. The Beginning of a Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there folks! So, just as a reminder, I'll be posting one more chapter after this for the week and then I'll start posting regularly once or twice a week. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

Unlike the previous night’s oath of silence.  Tonight, the two bots bickered back and forth to pass the time.  Talking about stupid things.  Like how likely, or unlikely, as far as Ratchet was concerned. That Cybertron would be invaded by an alien race of purple blocks seeking spare afts with their slippery tentacles.  Windsheer was quick to reassure Ratchet that his back-end was safe from being snatched by any alien, mostly because of to the alien’s _refined_ tastes.  But then she added a crude twist to her little tale.

 

“In fact,” one servo clanged her chest plating and her optics off-lined, to give the full dramatic effect of an oath.  “I _swear_ to you Ratchet, that no set of servos shall come to grace you unloved aft.  For _I,_ shall defend you chaste honor!”

 

But her false-heroics quickly twisted into a perverted smolder, as her optics possessively traveled the medic’s frame.  “With the exception of myself, of course!”

 

One of his eye-ridges arced in dismay.  “So you’re saying you have bad tastes in afts?”

 

Her twisted smile spanned the entirety of her face, elated that he was playing her game.  “No, my tastes are just different.  I like my bots with a little more… oomph! in their under-carriage.”

 

Ratchet’s servos stalled in their work as he tried to grind out a response.  One that would make even _this_ crass bot blush with shame!

 

A devilish smile curled his lips handsomely.  Windsheer’s was eagerly waiting for his retort.

 

“So, my big aft is your type, is what you’re saying?”  For the briefest moment, her optics softened, before perking up in delight.

 

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know?” her voice wasn’t unkind, but the lust in her tone made the medic blush.  Could he ever successfully cow this fem without it turning back in face?

 

Not receiving the flustered response he was after, Ratchet scanned her frame for any sign that would portray her true feelings.  Finding none, Ratchet’s optics returned to his work.

 

“Did you just ogle me?” She asked excitedly.

 

Ratchet snickered, “wouldn’t _you_ like to know?”

 

Windsheer’s optics just softened again, before her head drifted to the window.  Glancing up to catch her drained look, the medic checked his chrono, not surprised to see the late, or rather, the  _early_  hour displayed.

 

“You should catch some recharge while you can.  You must be tired from staying up yesterday night.”  Ratchet shrugged his shoulders noncommittedly.

 

Windsheer turned to him and smiled softly.  “I wasn’t the only one.”

 

“Yeah, but I’m not injured, and I recall you mentioning something about having a fight tomorrow night.”  Ratchet watched from the corner of his optics, as an expression he had never seen on another bots face, soften every crinkle in her plating as she stared at him with gentle optics.

 

He was reminded of her roots, as she whispered soft words in her native tongue.  Words he couldn’t understand, but from her near spark-shattering tone and her impossibly soft expression.  They were undoubtedly the sweetest words that he had ever heard.  His spark thrummed in its casing, and his servos had, once again, halted.

 

His entire frame hitched, when her helm was suddenly by his, and she planted a soft kiss to the cheek she hadn’t scorched.  The spell kept him in place a few moments longer, but when it finally broke away in sticky strands.  Ratchet’s optics swiveled to drink-in the beautiful face of the fem that drove his spark wild.  But her optics were already off-lined and her frame was relaxed as she slipped into recharge.

 

Ratchet stared a few moments longer, stealing every feature away and emblazoning it in his processor.  There was no denying his affection towards her.  He had never stood a chance against her wild charm and wicked grace.  But what drew him to her the most, was how sincere she could be when she discarded her showmanship and was just her amazing self.  He _adored_ that side of her, and how easy it was for her to rev his engine when she was being genuine.

 

Even on the first day they had met.  He had known she had pierced his spark with those wild red optics.

 

* * *

 

A heavy overcast had damped the city’s mood that day.  Leaving the normally busy streets, empty.  Any bot with a functioning processor knew better then to try and bear the harsh acid rains rolling in from the outer lands.

 

The clinic was barren of patients, leaving Ratchet to his own devices for the day.  The quiet aiding his lonesome conquest of cleaning his medical equipment for a third time.

 

It was within this quiet, ruthless, atmosphere that Ratchet had heard the spark-jolting chime of his door being opened and closed.

 

Ratchet’s first guess had been that a stray bot-animal had crawled into the city from the outer lands and managed to get lost in the overwhelming maze of streets, _and_ had somehow stumbled into the _wrong_ clinic.  Ratchet had quickly dismissed the possibility.  Nothing could have survived the long trek from the outer lands to his clinic in an acid-rain downpour.  Their armor would have been melted down to the protoform, killing the retched creature from exposure.

 

His next guess was that some sparklings were playing a dangerous game of hide & seek, darting in and out of shelters, so as to avoid the armor-eating substance.  Deciding the second choice was more likely, he adopted one of the meanest scowls in his arsenal to hopefully scare the little cretans into believing that their end had come.

 

But as Ratchet huffed into the waiting room, a cannon of reprimand loaded, he was frozen to the spot by the cloaked figure desperately clinging to the wall.  He could see large burn marks on the exposed arms and shins plating, but it was always the things that he couldn’t see that made the medic uneasy.  Most of the bot was hidden under a large sheet of malleable copper that was pinned to her chest by a pendant.  The hood was drawn to conceal the stranger’s face.

 

Ratchet regained his mobility when the bot swayed precariously on their pedes.  Protocols jostled him to try and catch the figure.  But a hand shot out at his approach.

 

“Stay back,” a strained voice hissed, as the scorched frame underneath the cloak shifted into a defensive stance.

 

“You need medical attention,” Ratchet said in a calm voice.  He remained a safe distance from the other bot, but was still prepped to reach out and catch the difficult patient if they were to fall.

 

Despite the bot’s strong stance, their frame’s shaking gave away their condition, and now that the cloak had been strewn back by her outstretched arms.  The medic could see the true extent of the rain damage.  But to his surprise, there were also gashes and claw marks grazing her naked frame.

 

The shaking was becoming more violent, as the fem remained strained in her stance.  Ratchet was about to reach out again, when her entire frame grew taunt and her shaking almost entirely ceased.  The sounds of rattling metal and indistinguishable grunts of some barbaric tongue had raised a thrill through her.

 

The hood tilted back towards Ratchet, and before he could process what was happening.  She had _picked_ his, considerably larger, frame off his pedes and held him firmly in her arms _bridal style_!

 

“H-hey now, put me down!”  An absurd stream of information addled his processor as the medic tried to make sense of the situation.  If the bots outside were barbarians, then wouldn’t that make the one holding him a barbarian too?  “W-wait, I’m not looking to be hauled off as some barbarian’s mate.  Put me do-”

 

A panicked servo shifted to clasp his mouth shut, the barbarian’s fore-arm now cradling his neck.  Swift steps, carried them deeper into the clinic.  The hood snapped back to search for pursuers when a loud clattering could be heard from outside.  The hooded-helm swiveled back to direct its occupants into one of Ratchet’s operating rooms.

 

The medic was squirming in her arms to try and loosen her hold.  In an attempt to keep him from squirming, her arm hooked beneath his knees, twisted so her servo could give Ratchet’s aft a firm rasp.  He stilled at the treatment reserved for sparklings

 

His rage was at its boiling point as the fem tucked him behind a counter, out of sight of the window and far away from the waiting room that no bot would be able to hear them if they stayed completely still.  But having been embarrassed and manhandled, Ratchet couldn’t care if the whole of Cybertron heard his shouts of indignation.  It would only take the removal of the fem’s digits, and he could vent his frustration.

 

The hood turned to face him, seeming to regard him for the first time.  The un-consented optical ravaging of his frame only worsened Ratchet’s temper.  But the barbarian’s servo slowly came away from his mouth.  Ratchet was sucking in a long in-vent, knowing his vocalizer was going to sound scratched after he was finished ranting.  But the hood that had regarded him so carefully, was prepared, suddenly lunging for his helm.

 

Two servos grasped either side of his face, smashing his lips against the barbarian’s.  The femme’s glossa swiftly invading Ratchet’s mouth as a servo moved to grasp his chin, angling it for optimal penetration.  The fem was pressed firmly against his chassis as she moved to deepen the connection with her free servo ravaging his frame.  

 

It was in that discombobulating moment, that Ratchet first caught sight of the fierce, and _hungry_ , optics of the wild fem.

 

The kiss seemed to last forever, the barbarian had claimed every sector of Ratchet’s mouth, leaving nothing unexplored.  She finally broke the vent-stealing connection, slowly dragging her dentae along his bottom lip, before coming away completely.  And honestly, Ratchet had _almost_ chased after her lips.

 

An appeased smile graced those enchanting lips, but before Ratchet could even _attempt_ to say anything.  The fem’s optics off-lined and her frame fell heavily against his chassis.  _Typical_.

 

The first chance he has to talk, and the fem recharges on him.  Still having to ex-vent his earlier in take.  Ratchet unshuttered his vents as hot _steam_ blasted from his chassis, and he could have _sworn_ he saw the little vixen smirk.

 

This had been the day that their weird and complex story had begun.

* * *

 


	5. Spark Eater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my first week posting this story, I'm going to give you all the first five chapters. But for every week afterwards, I'll only be posting 1-2 chapters. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

 

The next morning was ignored by the two bots hazardously draped over the medical slab.  Ratchet having managed to fix Windsheer’s leg to _almost_ perfect.  The joints would be a bit slow, but it didn’t seem like something that would hinder her too much.  He had also taken care to _re_ -weld the gaps that the idiot had opened.  It had been harder to buff out the dents in her armor due to his attempts at being quiet while the fem recharged, but most of the denting on her abdomen was nearly gone.

 

Satisfied with his work, and exhaustion making itself well known.  Ratchet couldn’t think of a single downside of curling up in Windsheer’s lap, and slipping into a _well-earned_ recharge.

 

It was in the first streams of morning, that Windsheer on-lined her optics to find her medic sprawled against her abdomen; his servos innocently curled around her waist and his cheek resting snugly against her hip.  A tender smile caressed her lips as she lifted a servo to his faceplates.  Her thumb kissed his cheek as her digits explored the expanse; feeling the strange transition of his face from soft youth, to a hardening senior.

 

Her optics glittered with desire, her thumb stopping at his slightly a-gapped lips.

 

“Ratchet, my love, I wish our time together would last forever.”  Her spark-filled words were heard only by unconscious audials, but having them out in the open, filled her with joy.

 

Windsheer leaned down to lightly brush her lips to his.  She hesitated for a moment, relishing every relaxed feature on his recharging face.  Her lips crushed his for a brief moment, a quick blast of yearning to say ‘good morning’ and ‘see you later.’

 

Gently shifting the rest of his bulk onto the slab with her, Windsheer’s servo glided over his chassis before slipping out of the operating room.  She paused, before turning towards the back of the clinic and grabbing a cube from the dispenser.  She returned to the side of the slab that Ratchet rested on, and placed it where he would see it when he on-lined.  But remembering she hadn’t paid him for his service to her yesterday, or the more recent night, Windsheer also un-subspaced a Shanix chip and left it next to the cube.

 

Satisfied, she snatched her cloak from the floor and repined it to her chassis.  Stealing one more glance at Ratchet’s recharging face, Windsheer scurried away to the waiting room and left the peaceful sanctuary.

 

Back on the street, Windsheer’s demeanor shifted dramatically.  Any trace of warmth or love left in her spark, was crushed in a wave coldness.  Outside of Ratchet’s inviting clinic, the world was cruel and unyielding.

 

Bracing herself for the day ahead, Windsheer became just as cruel, and just as unyielding.

* * *

 

Down in the lower half of Praxus, the mood seemed more sinister compared to the soft hum of the waking upper-half.

 

The buildings were smashed closer together, sometimes leaving pathways just big enough for a two wheeler to scrape through.  The walls crawled with watching optics, waiting for a weak enough victim to snatch into their dark world.  The occasional shriek could be heard, as some poor bot’s allegiance was _questioned_.  The streets often ran wild with vicious fights over territory during the nightly hours, and any bot caught up in the chaos, was fair game to the tortures of the victorious group.  Any bot expecting to survive down here, would either have to be willing to lick the slag off of someone else’s pedes, or be deadly enough that no one would chance a bad encounter with them.  Most bots recognized Windsheer as the latter.

 

A rusting Mech approached from the filth-covered shadows, shaking violently as he drew nearer.  “H-h-hey th-th-there friend!  Th-that’s a n-n-nice looking b-blanket th-there.  W-wouldn’t be looking a-a-at sell-ing it would ya?”

 

The bots broken vocalizer fritzed as he flanked her side.  His greedy optics eyed the material of her cloak, and he was even audacious enough as to lift a servo out to stroke the copper sheet covering her chassis.  His rusted servo was snapped into splinters, as it was held by a much larger servo.  The vendor howled out in pain when his, now broken servo, was pulled at until his pedes no longer touched the ground.  A large brawler, mercilessly dangled the poor bot above Windsheer’s helm.

 

“This slag-eater giving you trouble, Spark Eater?” the large Mech addressed Windsheer, using her ring name.

 

“No trouble today, Bonecrusher.  He was just curious.”  She said coolly, not portraying any emotion as the vendor was tossed back down on his aft.  He clutched his ruined servo and glared at the fighters with pure hatred.  Catching his lips parting, Windsheer pressed his helm into the dirt with the heel of her pede.

 

“You’re better off not using that screeching vocalizer of yours.  It’s annoying, and you’d be a wiser Mech by  _not_ pissing me off this early in the cycle.”  She spat coldly, while driving her heel deeper into his face plating, being sure to leave dents.  “I think it’s time for you to take your business elsewhere.  Don’t you agree?”

 

His optics were still venomous, but his helm nodded in compliance.  Removing her heel, he scrambled to his pedes, and ran for cover in one of the many crevices of the surrounding buildings.

 

Without a word, Windsheer glided past Bonecrusher, continuing her trek down near the city’s limits.  Bonecrusher turned to follow, “not even a thank you?”

 

She didn’t spare a glance to him as she spoke, “the end would have been the same with, or without you.  Don’t expect me to be gracious when _you_ volunteered to step into my affairs.”

 

A snort left the massive bulk’s in-takes.  “Good to see you’re cold as ever.  Really had me worried.  Thought you had a change of spark when that brawler tried to pull you in half.  Blackout even had a hefty sum of Shanix running on that being your last fight.”  Windsheer could feel the smugness of Bonecrusher’s broad features.  “Take a guess at who’s now one of the richest bots around?”

 

This earned him a strained smile.  “A severed leg isn’t going to scare me off from the Pits that easily, but it’s good to know at least _someone_ ’s rooting for me.”

 

Over her decade of fighting, Windsheer had made a stronghold for her name.  Earning the title ‘Spark Eater’ after her signature move, the _merciful_ removal and shattering of her victims spark.  For if the defeated challenger had been left alive and immobile, the scavengers would have stripped them for their parts while they were still _on-line_.

 

The Pits’ audience craved the gore and expected, no... _D_ _emanded_ Barbarian fighters to be ruthless killers.  And as shameful as it was to admit, Windsheer obliged them.  Any bot thrown her way, had been picked for death row.

 

However, the crowds had grown restless over the years and bored with her countless victories.  Their energon-lust propelling them to request longer, and more endearing battles.  Windsheer’s manager had no problem throwing her into a cage with a bot that dwarfed her, but these types of battles were quickly crippling her systems.  She probably didn’t have much time left before she met her final match.  Which meant she needed to set things in order so that she could off-line in peace.

 

It wasn't until the two bots entered the worst of the slums, when Windsheer finally turned to address Bonecrusher.  “Do you know who I’m fighting tonight?”

 

He grimaced, and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck with his large servo.  “ _Thankfully_ , I don’t know them personally, but it’s another big guy.  Your last fight was really popular.  Everyone was getting really heated-up after you lost your leg.”  He shifted uncomfortably as his optics drifted down to try and catch a glimpse of said appendage before coming back to her hooded face.  “Who knew you could do so much damage in that state?  I nearly lubricated myself, watching you tear into that Mech’s neck cables with your dentae like that.  It was…”

 

“ _Barbaric_ ,” Windsheer finished for him.  Her lips tightened at the unpleasant recollection.  She nodded her silent appreciation, before turning into a wider alley.  Pulling her cloak off and folding it neatly, she subspaced the material before shifting into a transformation sequence.  Her simple cab was bare of any flashy decorations, making her seem plain, but the flashy silver also made her _sleek_.

 

Bonecrusher came to a halt at the cross section.  “I’ll be seeing you in the ring, bud.”  His servo waved her off as she sped down the empty street and off to deal with her affairs at _home_.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you have enjoyed the fluff and teasing!


	6. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so I'm way ahead of schedule with this fanfic. So, I might just start posting whenever I have a large buffer. Hope you all enjoy this story!

* * *

 

In their cramped apartment, tension sizzled between the skilled fighter and the much smaller, but equally as fierce, sparkling.  The kid’s white helm just barely reached above her sister’s knee joint, but the look of sheer viciousness on her young face could have unnerved a bot twice Windsheer’s height.

 

Her sparking, blue optics glared up at Windsheer’s disapproving frown.  The young sparkling’s white servos were placed on her pink hips, in an attempt to imitate her older sister’s stance.

 

“I _WANT_ to see you fight too~” the little sap whined for the third time.

 

Windsheer’s voice was cold and stern, “absolutely not.  I forbid you from going anywhere _near_ that wretched place.”

 

She was turning away from the stubborn brat, when the little hellion started throwing herself at her sister’s legs.

 

“PLEEAASE!!!  I JUST WANNA SEE YOU KICK SOME AFT!!!”  The decrepit sound nearly shattering Windsheer’s audials.

 

To stop the obnoxious wailing, she clamped her servo over the brat’s mouth.  She wasn’t surprised when her efforts earned her a set of dentae launched in her servo.

 

She glared at the little piece of scrap.  “I need you to stay with the nice fem-bot that I _pay_ to look after you when I’m not around.  Can’t you just be a good little sparkling, and behave for her for once?”

 

The dentae sank in deeper.  Apparently meaning, _no_.

 

Breathing a heavy ex-vent, Windsheer softened her optics at her sister.  “Please Aerial, if you behave for tonight, I’ll treat you to a trip to that stream we both like.”

 

Aerial’s optics shifted away to contemplate the offer.  Her dentae loosened a tad, before determination possessed her optics, and her sharp fangs dented the plating with its ferocity.  “Onphy iph you breeng energon creats.”  Her demand was muffled by the servo lodged in her mouth.

 

One of Windsheer’s eye-ridges arched tiredly, “if I bring energon treats, you’ll really behave tonight?”

 

The little menace nodded sharply, tugging her sister’s servo painfully.  Windsheer’s other servo rubbed over her faceplate in defeat.  “Done!”

 

Aerial’s dentae immediately came off of her sister’s servo, all of her former tension flushed away with her new wave of excitement.  She rushed the tired fem, throwing her little arms around her sister’s hips.  “YAY!  ROADTRIP!!”

 

Windsheer’s audial buzzed painfully as her sister continued to squeal ecstatically.  Thoroughly pleased though, her arms were wrapped around the little sparkling with crushing force.  The little spitfire squirmed playfully, before angling her helm so that she was staring at her sister.  A stern look twisted her childish face into a comical display.  The true look of an oncoming scolding.  Windsheer thought that Ratchet could probably learn a thing or two from the sour sparkling.

 

“Promise me you’ll come back in one piece this time,” her index digit was poised threateningly at Windsheer’s optics.

 

A warm smile ghosted the older bot’s lips, “I’ll do my best.”

 

A bit disgruntled, the sparkling settled down as promised.  Windsheer set her back on the floor and stretched her arms up, pulling her frame taunt in hopes of relieving some of the leftover soreness from her last fight.  Snapping back, she gave her sister a cool wink.

 

Her sister giggled delightedly.  “Alright short stuff, it’s time that you go on over to play with your sparkling-sitter.”

 

Aerial nodded her head compliantly, before dashing off to subspace all of her favorite toys.  Windsheer realized her last fight might be coming soon, but she wasn’t going down tonight.  Not now that she had a promise to keep.

* * *

 


	7. The Fight

* * *

 

Staring down the tunnel, Windsheer could feel the energy of the excited crowd blast through the arena.  Loud shrieks and cheers echoed her name, some disdainfully, others with the expectations of winning their bets.

 

A gruff Mech stood off to Windsheer’s side, his well polished frame safely behind the electric barrier.  Underbite’s optics greedily counted the Shanix held in his servo.

 

In earlier years, the bot had been overly pleased to take the barbarian under his wing and offer her a job as a fighter.  He had full faith in her being torn to shreds her first night, hoping to sell her parts to the highest bidders.  What he hadn’t expected though, was Windsheer’s truly _cruel_ dismantlment of her opponent.  Now, he treated her as an object to do with as he pleased.

 

She had quickly gained a reputation for her wild and fierce fighting skills.  The interested audience at her fights rapidly grew, filling her _manager_ ’s bank with their Shanix.

 

“Alright kid,” he didn’t attempt to look up at his fighter as he spoke.  “Tonight’s going to be another ruff one.  Just do your thing, and I’m sure you’ll come out still on-line.”

 

His optics lit up with humor, and glanced up at her with a crude smile.  “But if you don’t, then let your spark rest knowing your valve will make me a pretty Shanix.”  A crooked laugh shook his overly buffered chassis.

 

But instead of being distracted by Underbite’s taunting, Windsheer’s optics were focused solely on the arena ahead of her.  She could hear the savage rattling of the cage directly across the carnage ridden pit.  Whatever was in there, was _big_ and _pissed_.

 

Windsheer refused to let herself be unsettled though.  She reminded herself why she was in here to begin with.  The reason why any of this was worth it.  The _resolve_ she had often relied on to scrape through the fight on-line.

 

She fought to provide a better life for her sister.  Even if that meant Windsheer couldn’t be a part of it in the future, she would get her sister out of these slums and away from any barbarian tribe that tried to bond her with an adult bot.  She would never again, allow a cruel servo to _touch_ her sweet little sister.  So when she could no longer fight for herself, she would stand and fight for _her_.

 

Windsheer’s frame was tensed in preparation for the fight.  She would _not_ lose tonight!

 

The MC was up on his platform now.  Announcing the beginning of the next fight.

 

His voice was pessimistic and handsome as he shouted into his attached mic set.  “Half of you love her, half of you hate her, but we all know and fear her!  Femmes and Mechs, rev your engines for… the Spark Eater!”

 

The iron gate at the entrance of Windsheer’s cage shuttered as it climbed out of her path.  Her pedes caring her into the roaring arena.  She could now see her opponent still in its cage.  It was a raving-mad beast-bot.

 

Just like the fight before, the ring masters had wrangled up the largest nightmare they could find in the outer lands, stole it from its home, and squeezed it into a cage.  The beast snarled and howled at the lack of open space, its massive talons clawing at the bars.  Windsheer could spot a barbed-tail thrashing over its head, undoubtedly poisonous.

 

While taking note of all the parts that she would have to avoid in order to survive, Windsheer didn’t hear the MC announce her opponent’s title.  The fight commenced as soon as the bars were raised high enough for the monster to barge out of its cage and thunder around the arena’s perimeter.

 

Two brawlers would have to be stacked on top of one another to reach the beast’s helm.  A helm that spun around the arena searching for a way out, its claws desperately clawing at the safe guard that kept the audience members a safe distance from the fray.

 

The beast’s tail swung dangerously close to Windsheer’s torso, but she held her ground as it whizzed past.  The crowd’s energy was overwhelming the creature as it finally circled around to meet her optics.  Its eight red visual-sensors narrowing with hostility.

 

Its six legs shambling forwards and long claws flailed to gain purchase in Windsheer’s plating.  But in a flash, she dashed away before hurtling a pede in the center of the beast’s optics.  An enraged whine rumbled from its vocalizer, as it chased after her limber dodges and strikes.

 

Windsheer managed to get a good kick at the beast’s undercarriage, crunching the sensitive plating underneath.

 

But as it swung around to claw at its attacker, her injured leg trembled painfully when she tried to leap out of its destructive path.  The tremor was enough to throw her off balance, and she stumbled gracelessly onto the energon-stained ground.

 

The beast stabbed at her sprawled form with its tail, forcing Windsheer to roll out of the way.  The audience was going ballistic as it continued to barrage her, not giving the fem enough time to recover to her pedes.  Frustrated by the lack of an escape route, she made a risky dodge for the talons swaying heavily in front of the creature’s helm.

 

She propelled her powerful pedes back into its optics, hoping to blind the damned thing.  It veered away from her, its claws clutching uselessly at its crushed helm as energon gushed out.  Its tail flickered out hazardously in all directions, grappling for a target,

 

Unable to get out of the way quick enough, its barb grazed Windsheer’s chassis.  The scratch burned as the poison seeped through the plating and embedded itself into her energon lines.  A painful gasp fled from her vocalizer, but she still managed to get onto her pedes.  She needed to end this fight quickly before the poison could take its full effect.

 

Her pedes blurred, as she rushed the blinded creature.  Flinging herself into the air, Windsheer’s frame twisted around, angling her pedes at the creatures back.  The blow crippled its spinal strut and gouged its armour.  The beast flailed beneath her, its vocalizer gurgling static.

 

Without hesitating, Windsheer’s servos grabbed the armour and peeled it away to find the spark chamber beneath.  Her pede smashed away at the casing until the blue orb was revealed to the eager spectator’s optics.  The beast wailed pitifully as her pede hammered away at its life force.  The light from the shattered orb pulsated a few times before vanishing completely.

 

The beast’s lifeless frame fell into a heap beneath Windsheer, and though she wanted to crumble under the growing heat of the poison, she remained standing as the crowd was sent into a deafening uproar.

 

Straining to keep her frame from shaking, Windsheer dragged herself away from the beast’s carcass and started heading back to the cage she had entered from.  Hoping to escape the arena before anyone could corner her while her insides were churning and heating up to a dangerous level.

 

Leaving the cheers in the arena, Windsheer relished the cool darkness of the channel under the fighter’s pen.  Underbite was waiting with a disgruntled smirk.  The barrier had been shut off to allow her access to the exit.  As she passed, her manager held out a Shanix chip in his servos.  Windsheer pinched the chip between her shaking digits before subspacing it.

 

“See ya next week, kid,” was the only congratulations she received before escaping to the outside.

 

Her plating was scorching, and her frame gave a violent shake under the strain.  Windsheer’s optics swam dizzyingly, and she had to brace a servo against the dome building that erupted with more cheers as the next fight was initiated.

 

She off-lined her optics and tried to regain her bearings.  Back outside in the slums, optics would be watching for any signs of weakness.  Descending on those who foolishly let their guards down, and taking what could not be defended.  Straightening herself out, Windsheer unsubspaced her cloak and pinned it in place.

 

Everything ached when she started to make her way through the darkened streets.  The only thought her foggy processor could hold onto, was going home to her sister.

* * *

 


	8. Tag Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Holy cow, I never expected this much attention! To all my readers, thank you so much for even looking at my work! I hope you're all still enjoying this story, and comment your thought down below!

* * *

 

The sky outside was dark, and Ratchet had a tray prepped for when Windsheer would come in battered after her fight.  He was normally ready for anything that she came in with.  Be it a severed limb, a gouged out optic, or even from extreme energon loss.  He thought he was thoroughly prepared for whatever challenge she would bring to him.  So when the door *binged,* he was lurching up to his pedes and rushing to the waiting room to help her to a slab.

 

What he _wasn’t_ prepared for, was the sparkling _dragging_ the fighter into his clinic.  Young, panicked, optics pleadingly roamed his approaching bulk.

 

“Sh-she needs help!” the sparkling cried out, struggling to keep her small frame from shaking wildly.  “She’s gone off-line and won’t _wake_ up!  What do I do!?”

 

Her voice trembled desperately, but Ratchet ignored the sparkling as he knelt down next to Windsheer’s unconscious body.  His servos shifted her onto her back and pulled at her cloak to reveal the damage.

 

Several scuff marks marred her plating, and in some places, the plating was pealed back to expose the circuitry underneath.  But what was most concerning, was the pulsating slash across her chest armour.  Angry, purple cracks spread from the slash and seemed to be growing fast.

 

“I-is she going to be okay?” the sparkling fidgeted at his side.  She couldn’t control the streams of coolant rushing from her optics, any more than she could control the panic in her voice.

 

Ratchet spared a brief glance at her, before turning back to his patient for further examination.  Pressing two digits to the cables at Windsheer’s neck, he found that the energon cord was pulsing disappointingly slow.

 

His frown deepened with concern.  Turning back to the scared sparkling, he finally addressed her, “I’m not going to lie to you squirt, it doesn’t look good.  But if my suspicions are right, then she’s probably been poisoned and just needs her energon lines flushed and refueled.”

 

The sparkling’s optics cycled even wider, “is that going to hurt her?”

 

“Like a turbo-dog,” Ratchet heaved as he lifted Windsheer into his arms.  “But maybe it’ll serve her right for entering these fights all of the time.”

 

The little bot followed closely behind Ratchet’s pedes as he carried the fembot to a medical slab.  His servos moved swiftly, connecting cables to the ports on Windsheer’s chassis.  The codes reading back disapprovingly.  She had definitely been poisoned, and it was the type of poison that would likely cripple her systems _permanently,_ if the medic didn’t move quickly.

 

The sparkling had perched herself on the far end of the medical slab near Windsheer’s pedes.  Her optics, though worried, scanned the medical equipment curiously.  As long as she didn’t try to play with anything, Ratchet had no reason to snap at her.

 

Grabbing a hose from the wall, he plugged it into another port and turned it on to start draining Windsheer’s frame of the poisoned energon.  He would have to wait until her tanks were almost empty before he could start pumping her systems with clean energon.

 

He busied himself with her more minor scuffs while keeping an optic on the hose, and the other on the speechless sparkling.  “So, how do you know Windsheer?” he asked awkwardly.

 

The kid’s helm spun around mystified.  It took a few seconds for his question to breach her bubble of shock.

 

“Oh, um, I’m her sister, Aerial.” She said, rubbing at her over-running optics.  She looked up at him, slightly more skeptical, “you _are_ Ratchet, right?”

 

He replied with a curt nod of his helm.  It surprised the medic, that after all the years he had known Windsheer, she had never mentioned having any family.  But then again, she very rarely spoke of her personal life.

 

“My sister told me a lot about you,” the sparkling suddenly announced.  Her tone was still grave, but he could tell that she was trying to shift the direness of the situation to a more casual tone.  Much like her sister often did to relieve his concern.  Ratchet hated the false sentiment, but complied.  If only to try and soothe the startled kid.

 

“Oh yeah,” Ratchet responded curiously, “and what did she have to say about me?  Nothing nice, I’m sure.”

 

The little bot’s nose scrunched up absurdly, “you’re the _only_ bot she says nice things about.  She doesn’t even call you a fragger, and she calls everyone that!”

 

Ratchet’s eye ridges crushed together disapprovingly, “a sparkling shouldn’t be saying things like that.”  But she ignored his reprimand as she continued.

 

“She also told me how to get here at least a dozen times,” Aerial scowled with indignation as her angered optics focused on her sister’s faceplates.  “I guess this was why.”

 

Ratchet scoffed, “I don’t think it was her intention to have a sparkling drag her here.   Probably just wanted you to know where to go if you get your wires in a bunch.”

 

Aerial’s glaring blue optics, reminded him of her sister’s blazing red when they bickered.  “What kind of idiot gets their wires bunched?”

 

Ratchet was finding that he quiet liked this sparkling.  Sensible little thing.

 

Both of their attentions were drawn to the crackling static of an on-lining vocalizer.  Windsheer’s optics blaring suddenly, but were unfocused.  She rushed to sit up, arms and legs flailing out wildly to defend herself.

 

Ratchet’s servos clamped down over her shoulders and shoved her back to the berth.  Aerial was so startled, that she had fallen the floor.  Ratchet didn’t have a free servo to fuss over the sparkling, too busy with the strong servos and pedes thrashing at his helm.

 

“Stop squirming around like that!  You’ll yank the cables out!”  Ratchet growled, fighting to keep the fembot on the slab.

 

It took a moment for the familiar sound of his vocalizer to register with his lucid patient, but she eventually calmed down enough to calibrate her processor with the situation.  Relaxing, she scanned the room.

 

“ _Rat-chet_?” her vocalizer scratched out.  Questioning, red optics turned to take in his frame.

 

“Yeah, it’s me.  Got yourself in a pretty sticky situation,” Ratchet grumbled.  Picking a cable off the floor, and non-too-gently, slamming it back into her port.  She winced, but the medic felt that his roughness was warranted.  _Want to act like a difficult patient, then you’ll get treated by a difficult medic_.

 

A small helm peered over the slab’s edge, annoyed optics glaring at her sister.  “Is she done short-circuiting?”

 

Windsheer’s optics shot open in surprise, “what the frag is she doing here?”

 

Ratchet’s helm cocked sternly to Windsheer.  _What is wrong with this fem?  Doesn’t she know better than to curse around a sparkling?_

 

“I carried your heavy aft here,” Aerial pipped-up, her tone scornful.

 

Windsheer’s optics careened with her sister’s.  “I told you to only come here if _you_ were hurt.”

 

Aerial’s optics narrowed with irritation.  “Yeah, well you came home and just _crashed_ on the floor.  And that turbo-dog of a fem you left me with, she refused to lift a servo because she wasn’t being _paid_ enough to deal with your scrap!”

 

Windsheer’s mouth opened to argue with her sister, but Ratchet wanted to fit his two Shanix in as well.

 

“Aerial was right in doing what she did!  If you had held off on treatment any longer, you’d have terminated yourself for nothing,” his optics were stern looking into his patient’s defeated faceplate.  Her hopes of being backed up by the irritated medic, dashed.  Ratchet did take some pleasure, watching her optics grow heavy with exhaustion.

 

The energon leaving her system was going to make her drowsy, and hopefully send her into recharge for healing.  But with this being a strong-headed fighter, he doubted she would be compliant with the lull of drained energy.

 

Her optics fell with resignation.  A wheezed ex-vent heaved her frame, her optics remained down-casted as she mumbled, ‘ _thanks_.’

 

Crossing his arms over his chest plate, he off-lined his optics, and drew his helm back sternly.  “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

 

Un-be knowing to him, the two sister’s shared a knowing look before snickering loudly.  His optics snapped on-line to glare at them.

 

Aerial was having problems circulating air between gusts of laughter, “you weren’t kidding, Windsheer.  He really is a righteous aft!”

 

Ratchet huffed indignantly.  Putting his servos back to work, he checked Windsheer’s cables and energon levels.  Her tank was at the right level for him to start refueling her.  Removing the suction hose, he left the snickering femes to grab a cube of medical grade.

 

Opening it, he shoved it at his patient with a sour glare.  “Don’t try to refuse, just take it and start getting better.”

 

Windsheer took it with a grateful incline of her helm, “thank you, Ratchet.”

 

She tentatively sipped at the cube, sticking her tongue out at the diluted taste.  Aerial laughed at that.  “Be a big fem and take your medicine, sissy.”

 

Windsheer glared at her over the cube, but swigged it down unbothered.  Satisfied when it was all gone, Ratchet was pleased when the angry purple on her chest plating was turning a bright blue.  But he scowled again when she winced pulling herself up.

 

“Lay back down and try to get some recharge,” he grunted sternly, grabbing the empty cube and setting it on his tray to be discarded later.  “Recovery is going to be a pain in the aft.”

 

Windsheer’s droopy optics turned to look at him appreciatively, “I should take Aerial home.”

 

Both Ratchet and Aerial, sent her a venomous glare.

 

“You’re not leaving that slab if I have to strap you to it!” Ratchet’s steely growl was affirmed by an equally disapproving nod from Aerial.

 

“And I’ll help him do it!” the sparkling’s tone matched her sharp optics.

 

Windsheer stared at them both in tired disbelief.  “You’ve turned my own energon and metal against me, Ratchet.”

 

Grunting, Ratchet just shoved her back against the slab.  “Recharge,” he snapped.  But in a kinder tone he added, “I’ll keep an eye on your sister.  She’ll be fine…as long as she doesn’t screw up anything.”

She smirked at that, but her optics were already hooded, and they stared warily at the two bots frowning down at her.

 

Defeated, she off-lined her optics, but before she slipped into recharge, she opened her lips one last time.  “Love you both.”

* * *

 


	9. A Helping Servo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! I've always loved the thought of a grouchy Ratchet being left in charge of an equally grouchy sparkling.

* * *

 

The injured fem, _thankfully_ , recharged for most of the following day.  Her in-takes had hitched a few times throughout the night due to the remaining poison draining from her tanks, but she otherwise remained resting.

 

And having had thought it unfortunate for himself, this left Ratchet as the unenthused caretaker of an overly-excited sparkling that had been awake long past her berth time.  The parasite was constantly fidgeting next to him.  Every move he made, be it to check her sister’s cables and fuel lines, or to go back to his storage room to grab additional supplies to repair the dents and gaps in Windsheer’s armour, the brat became an unshakable shadow that wasn’t nearly as silent.

 

Aerial was a bastion of questions, not all of which would have been acceptable for a sparkling to ask.

 

“So, do you prefer to spike, or to be spiked?”  The poor medic’s cheeks glowed a bright red, and his jaw had nearly smacked the floor when she had asked sincerely.

 

“Th-that is _not_ an appropriate thing for a sparkling to say!” Ratchet lips flapped uselessly, “that’s not an appropriate thing for _anyone_ to say!”

 

The sparkling stared at him confused.  “What’s so wrong about it?”

 

Ratchet’s wiped at his faceplates with a servo, trying to cool his flustered features.  “The whole thing is wrong, and it’s even worse for a young fembot like you to go around saying scrap like that!  Where did you even learn that from?”

 

The sparkling grew quiet for a moment, likely trying to recollect the original source.  “I’m not really sure,” she said quizzically, before shrugging it away.  “But all the big bots I hang around talk like that, so I figured you were like that.  Frag, my sister was right about you.”  Her optics stared up at Ratchet, mischief flickering in her EM waves.  “You’re a _really_ modest Mech.”

 

Not knowing why, Ratchet’s blush returned with a vengeance, igniting Aerial’s demented pleasure.  “She also said it was almost _too_ easy to embarrass you.”

 

Ratchet grumpily scowled, as he continued working on the broken plating of said _she_.

 

Most of the night passed like that.  Aerial continued to bombard the medic with her weird questions, and the medic putting the fighter back together while she recharged.  Much to his immediate delight though, the sparkling had dozed off during the early hours of the morning.  Regrettably, that meant the medic would have to work without recharge, _again_.

 

* * *

 

 

The clinic hadn’t been too busy that day.  A few hours after the clinic had opened, Aerial had rudely been on-lined when another sparkling’s discomforted crying echoed loudly in the clinic.  Unhappy that they were getting a simple virus protection program installed.

 

The saucy little fem had, quite grumpily, strode into Ratchet’s examination room and peered at the noisy sparkling on the medical slab.  Expelling a heavy ex-vent, her little digits pinched her optics tiredly, making her seem a lot older.  Aerial turned her attention back at the whiny patient with the scariest look that Ratchet had ever seen on a sparkling.

 

“Keep it down, you’re disturbing the other fragging patients in the building,” the patient’s carrier stared in disbelief at the ill-tempered kid.

 

The medic’s patient whimpered pitifully on the slab, “but it’s _scary_ ~!”

 

Ratchet watched incredulously as a fuel line on Aerial’s helm popped.  “There are things far _scarier_ than having a virus protection installed.  Grow-up and take it like a Mech!”

 

The Carrier didn’t take kindly to the intruder’s temper, but before a fight could ensue in _his_ clinic.  Ratchet ushered the grouchy sparkling out of the examination room, and back into the operating room with her sister’s still unconscious frame.

 

Ratchet returned to his patient and the fuming Carrier.  He just rolled his shoulders nonchalantly, “well she’s not wrong.”

 

The Carrier’s jaw dropped, but after Aerial’s outburst, the sparkling behaved for the rest of the procedure.

 

The little fembot made her presence more well-known, when she woke-up from a fuller recharge.  She acted as Ratchet’s assistant, going back and forth from the supply room, and handing off the tools Ratchet needed for a patient’s ailment.  Though he would never admit it, the medic truly appreciated the help.

 

Even when there were no customers to attend, she would busy her servos with chores.  Like sweeping the dust out of the waiting room (a task Ratchet had neglected for some time), or clearing away the clutter from his trays, and even helping him organize the supplies that were strewn around in the supply room.

 

The medic found himself growing increasingly comfortable with the pink and white sparkling as the day slowly passed.  Even some of his older patients found her endearing nature charming.

 

The pair had taken refuge in the storage room as the uneventful evening drifted away lazily.  They were both at work cleaning medical equipment, when Windsheer’s sleepy optics ducked into the room.  Even from his seat at the table that held all of his equipment, Ratchet could see the slight quiver of her frame as she struggled to stand.  Undoubtedly an after effect of the poison.

 

A soft smile creased her lips as she watched the two from the door way.  Aerial’s pink helm swiveled around long enough to take her sister in, before returning to her work.  A relieved smile playing at her lips.

 

“So glad to see you back with the living,” the little sparkling snarked.

 

Windsheer approached her sister, jostling her helm with a servo.  “Cheeky little thing.”

 

She stopped to lean against the table, her optics on Ratchet.  “Did ya miss me?”

 

The older bot scoffed, “not in your recharge.”

 

Her smile grew cocky as she regarded him, “in _my_ recharge, you do a lot _more_ than miss me.”

 

For what seemed like the millionth time that day, Ratchet’s faceplates flushed red with embarrassment.  The two sisters laughed at his obvious discomfort, and his annoyed grumbling about their foul processors.

* * *

 


	10. In Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit! Broke triple digits over the weekend, and honestly, that's a HUGE boost to my ego. Thank you all so much, and I hope you all enjoy!

 

* * *

 

Having been ordered berth-bound by both Ratchet, _and_ her little sister.  Windsheer was becoming increasingly restless by her limited movements the following cycles.  Her sister would spend most of her time assisting the good doctor with his other patients.  Only occasionally staying with her sister to chat her audials up before returning to work.

 

Ratchet had already gotten used to the sparkling’s presence by his side and quickly found that she had some, albeit limited, knowledge about medicine and a natural curiosity for the field.  He could easily see her becoming a capable nurse in the future.

 

Her gruffer sister on the other servo, was becoming a nuisance in her listless entertainments.  Her constant pestering and prodding of the medic was driving the Mech crazy!

 

“For the last time, Windsheer!  KEEP YOUR PERVERSE SERVOS TO YOURSELF!!” Ratchet was slapping her crawling digits from his frame as the insatiable fem attempted to drag herself into his arms for the third time that day.

 

“Come now, Ratchy.  Can’t you handle a little _affection_?”  The medic felt her flirtatious purr rumble in his own tanks as she pressed her chassis to his.  Her servos were slipped behind his neck, and her lip plates threatened to careen with his.

 

Despite, the damned fem’s frame overheating with a fever, another unfortunate side effect of the poison, she still found the energy to torment Ratchet with her incessant closeness.  Her digits now moved to paw at his neck cables seductively, and for a spark-beat, Ratchet’s resolve was near crumbling as her lips veered towards his audials.

 

Windsheer’s native language was saturated with lust.  Muttering words indecipherable to the medic, but still having the same heated effect on his warming frame.  Her glossa flicked out teasingly, gracing the side of his helm.

 

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”  Ratchet’s arms pried her off his frame, before crushing her to the berth that she was _supposed_ to be recovering on.  Her amused smirk only enraged the medic more.  Unsubspacing a set of straps, he tightly bound the squirming fem to the berth.

 

“Ah, come on Ratchet!  Did I rile you up _that_ much?” Windsheer’s continued taunting was met with the medic’s hurt blue optics.

 

“What do you even want to get from _this_?” Ratchet waved his servo between them, indicating their uncommon closeness.  “Am I just a Mech for you to toy around with?  Do you even care about _my_ feelings!?”

 

The shattered emotion in Windsheer’s optics made Ratchet’s spark twist painfully, but despite wanting to shove his words back down his throat, he didn’t back down.  He wanted to know her true intent.  _Needed_ to know.

 

“Ratchet, I would never try to hurt you like that,” she faltered as a pained smile pulled at her lips.  “I really do care for you... a lot”

 

Ratchet’s spark skipped a beat, but before he could reply.  Her servo surged up, effortlessly breaking the straps holding it down, and held a clawed digit to his lips.

 

“Shhh, you don’t need to say anything.  In fact-” her optics wavered and her vocalizer briefly tapered off.  She cleared the knot in her throat, before continuing.  “In fact, I think it would be better for both of us if you didn’t say anything.  It’ll only hurt more when-”

 

Her last words were cut-off entirely, when a certain pink and white sparkling burst into the operating room that had become the sisters’ temporary guest-room for the previous cycles.

 

She paused to take in the situation before her.  Both of the older bot’s frames were heated, and Windsheer’s limbs were sprawled out, almost obscenely, under the straps.  Her servo still placed tenderly on Ratchet’s faceplate.

 

The little fem’s optics narrowed suspiciously, “Hey doc, do you really think it’s a good idea for her to be taking part in such a _strenuous_ activity?”

 

Ratchet’s already flushed cheeks burned with shame, and he looked anywhere _but_ at the two troublesome femes.  “We weren’t doing _that_!”

 

Windsheer’s previously pained expression had already melted into a smug grin.  “We _weren’t_!?  You sure had me fooled!”

 

Ratchet glared at her, but she just winked, unaffected by his foul mood.  Heaving a heavy ex-vent, he clicked a release on the useless straps, and put them back in his subspace.

 

“Can you at least _try_ to stay put?” he asked wearily.

 

Windsheer just looked at him with her mischievous optics and wiggled her hips enticingly, an obvious reply that he registered as: _Pit no!_

 

Her optics drifted to her sister.  “Hey, there squirt!  Sorry I haven’t been up and about, but how about we go on that trip tomorrow?”

 

Aerial’s optics shimmered with excitement for a brief moment, before narrowing sternly.  She turned to address the medic instead, “did the poison addle her processor as well?”

 

Ratchet snorted at this.  “No, but her tanks are still burning through her fuel reserves at an abnormal rate.  I wouldn’t recommend anything too straining on her systems.”

 

Windsheer pouted at the bots still trying to condemn her to a berth.  “You both worry too much!  I’m fine,” and before either sets of servos could stop her, she gracefully leapt from the berth to stand on her own pedes to prove her point.

 

Ratchet’s bored optics watched her proudly strut back and forth a few times.  Aerial watched with a suppressed humored expression as her sister stopped to pose seductively.  The ruse was ruined when one of Ratchet’s digits reached out to trace the still healing scratch on Windsheer’s chassis.  She winced, but didn’t pull away from the contact despite her obvious discomfort.  The medic knew she was in more pain than she was letting on.

 

Ratchet frowned, “I think your trip is going to have to wait a bit.”

 

Her pleading optics stared at him, but a hopeful glimmer sparked the scarlet glass.  “What if a _nice_ medic came with us to keep an optic on me?”

 

Ratchet’s optics narrowed at her pleading expression, “I have a clinic to run Windsheer.  I can’t just leave on a whim.”

 

Her hope wavered, but she hid it behind a mask of confidence.  The medic grew uneasy when the fem seductively stalked towards him.  Aerial’s optic ridges shot up, her optics growing wide, and her jaw dropped in surprise as Windsheer leaned intimately against Ratchet’s stiff frame.

 

“Come now, Ratchet,” Windsheer’s purr paired with her searing optic would have been every other bot’s wet dream, but she was the medic’s worst nightmare.  Ratchet’s spark thundered with her nearness.  “Can’t you spare a single day for your favorite bot?”

 

Her lips brushed his jawline teasingly, and her wicked digits were entangled with his neck cables once more.  The flustered medic tried to peel himself away from her coaxing digits, but his efforts were easily swatted away by her increased advances, trapping him between the medical slab and her lustful gaze.  “ _Pretty_ please.”

 

_This fem was going to terminate him!_

 

Ratchet finally found the decency to pull her devious servos from his sensitive cables.  But those smoldering optics were his undoing.

 

He angled his helm away from her roaming lips, trying to sound grumpy and unfazed, but his words came out flustered and rushed.  “F-fine, but you need to get those perverse servos of yours under control!”

 

Windsheer chuckled, clearly amused by the medic’s discomfort, but she withdrew.  Ratchet’s EM waves were a contradicting mix of relief and longing.  He made sure to draw the conflicting array behind a barrier.  The last thing he needed, was for Windsheer to know just _how_ much he wanted her.

 

“Your request is manageable,” the fembot cooed contently, “but it’ll be awfully hard to keep my digits to myself with you looking so _irresistible_.”  Her glossa flicked over her tongue hungrily as her optics blatantly roamed the fuming medic’s frame.

 

Aerial had watched the whole display with great interest, and Ratchet’s last shred of dignity evaporated with her intrusive comment.  “You two need to get a berth.”

 

Cursing a string of incoherent obscenities, Ratchet left the room, his cheeks aflame.  But he stopped at the doorway and spared Windsheer’s relaxed frame one last glance, her optics calmly met his.  His spark skipped another beat, turning away, he left, but not before barking a firm order.  “Recharge!”

* * *

 


	11. A Trip to Remember

* * *

 

Ratchet was already regretting agreeing to go with the two sisters.  He didn’t even know where they were heading, as they cruised through the barren Outer Lands surrounding the city.

 

The desert surrounding Praxus was vast, and was considerably dangerous for the bots that had only ever known the safety behind the city’s walls.  But the former barbaric sisters seemed to relish the endless stretch of sky and uneven sheet metal.

 

Windsheer’s much faster cab alt-mode, sped easily in front of Ratchet’s bulkier, ambulance form.  Aerial, being too young to have an alt-mode, was perched comfortably on top of his wide hood, enjoying the wind as it breezed over her frame.

 

Windsheer’s tires spun suddenly as she drove in a wide circle around Ratchet.  The medic could hear her elated laughter as she matched his slower pace.

 

“Don’t overdo it!” he snapped, but she replied with a playful nudge.  Aerial briefly lost her balance from the unexpected tremor.  Righting herself, she sent her sister an irritated glare and flipped Windsheer off.  "Aerial!  Put that digit away this instant!"

 

“Where is it that were going exactly?”  Ratchet asked, trying to distract the sisters’ before they could start fighting.

 

It was Aerial who answered him.  “There’s this really awesome reservoir of water that Windsheer found a few years ago.  We like to go up there sometimes to play.”  Her optics shimmered with excitement before shooting wide with alarm.  She peered down at Windsheer, her blue optics pinched with annoyance.  “Hey!  You didn’t forget about my energon treats, did you!?”

 

Ratchet felt satisfied cockiness spike in the cab’s EM waves.  “Of course I didn’t!  I picked them up before we left the city.”

 

Equally satisfied, Aerial relaxed again to enjoy the ride.  Ratchet was beginning to struggle processing the sparkling’s sudden mood-swings.   _Why snap over a couple of energon treats, but not about her reckless behavior!?_

 

But his thoughts came to a halt when he sensed the two femes’ peaking excitement.  On the horizon, an outcropping of plateaus crowned the otherwise desolate distance.

 

“There!  That’s where we’re going!”  Aerial exclaimed excitedly, her little servo furiously pointing at the land’s creasing.

 

Windsheer’s engine revved, and she drove another loop around Ratchet before speeding away.  Ratchet didn’t miss the way she drove rhythmically from the left to the right.  He had first thought this was another one of her tactics to try and irritate him, but later realized she was actually scanning the area for danger.

 

Being in the Outer lands meant they were exposed to any number of beast-bots, or barbarian tribes.  But, with the two sister’s being former tribe members, and with one of them being a skilled fighter, Ratchet should have felt less wary.  However, being one of the city bots that seldomly left Praxus, he felt uncomfortably exposed in the barren landscape.

 

The out-cropping of metal mountains broke open to reveal a small oasis.  A few small, and nonthreatening, mechanimals that had been basking in the water hole scattered at the approaching roar of engines.

 

Windsheer swerved to a stop before the watering hole.  Transforming back into her root-mode, she leapt onto Ratchet’s hood, plucked her squealing sister up, and chucked the sparkling into the center of the pool.  If Ratchet had a jaw to drop, it would have, as he watched the kid fly through the air.  But the kid  _loved_  it.

 

“What the frag kind of care-taking is that!?”

 

“Oh, come on! She loves it!” Windsheer plopped her aft down on the ambulance, pedes dangling over Ratchet’s windshield, completely at ease and comfortable.  The medic didn’t take kindly to that.

 

“Get  _off_  of me!” transforming back into his root-mode, Ratchet watched with satisfaction as Windsheer’s back-end landed on the ground with a heavy  _thump!_

 

“Ow!  Why can’t you ever just be sweet and loving!?” Ratchet found her pouty expression to be quite endearing.  He offered a servo to her.  She glanced at it coyly, but instead of taking it, she braced her forearms against the ground and threw her pedes at his chassis.  The momentum of the kick sent Ratchet soaring into the cold pool behind him.

 

Water filled his vents, tickling his protoform underneath.  He surged up, sputtering the water out with great gulps of air.  Windsheer laid smugly on her chassis, watching him flail from the safety of the shore.  Ratchet’s helm snapped to her coy smile, his glare was fueled with rage.   _It was on!_

 

Ratchet rushed back to the shore, fully intending to pull the vixen in too.  Her optics widening playfully as she pulled herself into a crouching position.  As soon as the soaked medic was close enough to reach, she pounced from her perch landing square on the center his chassis.  They toppled over into the water.  Windsheer’s delighted laughter filled his audials as she entangled her limbs around him, pulling them both under the surface.

 

They buoyed above the water a moment later.  Ratchet sputtering again, and Windsheer gleefully clinging to his neck.  Her laughter was incorrigible.

 

The sparkling that had been thrown in first, drifted lazily on her back some way from the older bots.  She watched her sister’s explosively good mood with an optic.  She had never seen the fem so happy.

 

Life in the tribe had been harsh and cruel for them both, but Aerial knew that Windsheer had been the one to take the worst damage while trying to protect her.  She smiled contently as she continued to float on the water’s surface.  She’d be more than happy to spend the rest of her days hearing that laugh.

 

To her, it meant they were safe, and that they had  _finally_  found a home.

 

* * *

 


	12. Her Will

* * *

 

The three spent most of their day pleasantly splashing around and playing in the water.  Ratchet hadn’t seen the initial appeal of floundering around in the natural pool, but after Windsheer’s third or fourth attempt at water boarding him, he too, found himself having fun chasing after the cheeky fem to pay his retribution.

 

After several hours of water play, Aerial was so tired, that she ended up recharging on the shore.  Windsheer allowed the sparkling to rest her helm in her lap, while she stared off into the distance.  Ratchet sat comfortably by her side, their servos almost close enough to touch.

 

The medic was staring at her servo, debating taking it in his own, when her voice surprised him from his musings.  Her tone was soft and quiet, so as to not disturb the recharging sparkling, but there was an undertone of sadness that made Ratchet feel uneasy.  “Ratchet, there’s something I need to ask of you.”

 

“Meh, it better not be something perverted!” Ratchet scowled, it would be just like her to spoil a good mood with her filthy glossa.  But the soft look in her optics stopped him from saying anything more.

 

Her gaze remained fixed to the mountains surrounding them, shielding their peaceful haven from the outside world.  “This is a really big favor to ask of you, especially after all of the kind help you’ve given me over the years.  You’ve never even questioned all the bad things I’ve done.  It makes me feel shallow knowing I can’t give you anything in return,” the self-hating look in her optics made him want to object, but the she plowed ahead without giving him the chance. “Fortunately, this will probably be the last thing I ask of you.”

 

Her helm leaned to look at him, her smile sad, and she seemed to hold an inconsolable sorrow in her optics.  “I don’t know how soon it will be, but one of these nights, I won’t be coming out of that ring.”

 

Ratchet’s in-takes were hitched, realizing what she was saying.  He couldn’t even imagine not having Windsheer’s smart mouth and smug grin in his life.  It was so easy to relax with her around, even with her non-stop teasing and unnerving closeness.  He felt the most at peace by her side.

 

But even as he tried to deny the unfavorable possibility, she continued.  “I need someone to look after her when I’m gone,” her optics gently gazed down at the precious body in her lap.  “You’re the only one I trust, and I know this is going to make you mad, but I already put you in my Will as her caretaker.  When I’m terminated, all of the winnings I have in savings will go to you for her care.”

 

Ratchet’s helm was shaking in refusal, his spark ached with the weight of her unnaturally calm words.  “You’re speaking nonsense!  There’s no way you’d-”

 

But the desperate servo clutching at his stopped him.  When he looked up into her pleading optics, he was startled to find them leaking coolant.  “Please, Ratchet.  I know this is a lot to ask, but I need to know that she’ll have _someone_ to take care of her.”

 

Ratchet’s optics bore into hers, she was scared.  He had never before seen fear shatter the confidence in Windsheer’s optic.  It unnerved him in a way he never thought possible.  His free servo reached up to brush the coolant from her cheek, trying uselessly to smear away her worries.  Her helm leaned into the touch.

 

Ratchet’s face leaned towards hers as he drew closer.  He hesitated for the briefest moment, taking in her yearning optics before tenderly placing his lips to hers.  Windsheer allowed him to explore her mouth slowly.  Being the one to normally instigate these intimate actions with gushing passion and hurried movements, Ratchet was surprised by her compliant stillness.

 

He angled her helm so that he could deepen their kiss, hoping to express the overwhelming emotions playing with his spark.  Her arms encircled his neck lovingly as she returned his affection ten-fold.

 

Despite his vents burning for an in-take, Ratchet held onto Windsheer’s lips for a moment longer before parting to stare into her dazzling red optics.  Her lips quirked happily, “wow… didn’t think you had-”

 

Ratchet shut those snide lips with another kiss, his servos drifting to claim her frame in an embrace.  The movement shifted the sparkling that had been recharging in her lap, resentfully waking Aerial from her slumber.

 

Seeing that the older bots’ provocative activities had been her unwelcomed arouser.  Aerial grumbled, clearly annoyed.  “Get a berth!”

 

The two bots, having been startled by her unexpected exclamation, pulled away from each other with a _pop_.  A strand of spit still joining their mouths.  Ratchet rubbed at the strand, his face already flushing.  Windsheer reverted to her pervious ways, licking the trail on her lips before leaning forward and tracing Ratchet’s lips with her glossa.

 

The medic clamped his lips shut as she tried to attack his mouth, even with their now, very _awake_ , audience.  Her sharp dentae clamped down on his bottom lip plate teasingly before standing up.

 

Stretching her whole frame, she looked down at the two bots still on the ground.  “We should probably start heading home soon, before it starts getting dark.  I don’t think our city-bot here would fare too well out here with the turbo-dogs looking for an easy snack,” she winked at Ratchet’s scowl, before sauntering away from the shore.  Her hips swinging enticingly.

 

Ratchet could feel the burning glare from the grumpy sparkling next to him, but didn’t have the nerve to look at her.  “You better frag _that_.”  She gestured to her sister with a curt thumb.

 

The medic turned to snap at the rude kid, but she was already getting up to run after her sister.  “Come on doc, we won’t beat the sun with you slouching around like that.”

 

Scowling, the disgruntled medic transformed and drove up next to the irritating sisters.  Windsheer scooped Aerial up in her servos and placed her on Ratchet’s hood.  His hood being wider and more comfortable than Windsheer’s aerodynamic top.

 

Her digits dragged along his sides, a smile quirking her lips as he visibly shuttered, before transforming into her alt-mode as well.  She remained close to Ratchet’s side the entire drive home, occasionally rubbing against him affectionately.  The medic knew there would be no rest for him now that she knew just how taken his was with her.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See ya next week!


	13. Sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haha, remember that tag that says 'interfacing...later.' It is 'later' my Horny Hermit Society!

* * *

 

Back in Ratchet’s clinic, with Aerial curled up on the operating berth that Windsheer had previously used while she recovered; the older bots shared the space in the storage room.  The medic was offering a cube to the fighter as they sat contently at the work bench.

 

She gladly took the cube between her servos, her optics tiredly settling at the bottom of the fuel.  Ratchet propped himself comfortably against the table, sitting close enough to feel her warmth.  “Can I ask you a few personal questions?”

 

Her optics remained fixed in place, slightly regarding, but she nodded her consent.  The time had finally come for them to just, _talk_.  Ratchet’s processor was always a racing mess of questions whenever he encountered the femme, but she had always pushed him away whenever he attempted to confront her actions, or was too seriously injured to address his questions.  The only explanations she had ever offered him were vague and always left his questions burning in the back of his processor.  He wanted to know her.

 

All he actually knew about her was that she had left her tribe because of some _complications_ , and that she fought in the arena to make a living.  She never explained anything past that, and would frequently derail the medic’s questioning by flustering his processor with oddly intimate actions.

 

But now… Now, they _needed_ to talk, and Windsheer was finally willing to comply.

 

Ratchet was ready with his first question after taking a swig from his cube.  “So, what made you leave your tribe?”

 

Her optics were frigid as she spoke, but she was already prepared to answer.  “For the bots in my tribe, strength is everything.  If a bot wanted something, all they needed was to be strong enough to take it.  So, if a bot wants to mate with another bot, they don’t need consent.  They just need to be strong enough to take their _prize_.”

 

A harsh smile twisted Windsheer’s expression unkindly.  “Anyone is fair game.  If you couldn’t fight for yourself, or had no one to fight for you, a suitor just needed to be strong enough to take you.  There were bots who would even frag the sparklings too young to defend themselves.”

 

Ratchet grew stalk still and his grip on his cube tightened.  In the cities, sexual advances on any sparkling was illegal and was punishable by death.  The medic’s EM waves grew hot with anger.  He didn’t like where this was going, but he had asked for it, and now that Windsheer was willing to open up to him about her past, he damn-well would sit there and listen.

 

“Both my Sire and Carrier, were too weak to defend themselves, much less their own offspring, and I wasn’t much of a fight against the older bots in the tribe,” she paused, having to steady herself with an intake.  “I was claimed frequently, and always against my will.”

 

Ratchet watched the strained emotions race across Windsheer’s faceplates, his jaw clenched with fury.  It grew with the thought of another Mecha’s servos forcing themselves on her when she had just been a _child_!

 

Her optics met his for a brief moment, the shattered look he had seen at the water-hole was there again, but she refused to look at him when she spoke again.  “After being… _ruined_ because of my parents’ inability to protect me from the other Mecha in the tribe.  I was furious when they told me that they had sparked another life into that wretched place.  When Aerial was formed, I swore on my spark that she would _never_ experience what I had.  So, when she started to get courted, _I_ fought for her.”

 

A spark of fierce determination fizzed in Windsheer’s optics.  “It became crystal clear to me at some point, that neither one of us would ever be safe if we stayed in the tribe.  So one night, while my Carrier and Sire were asleep, I took Aerial and drove her all the way to Praxus.  A place where I thought we’d be safer.”

 

Windsheer frowned at the floor.  “It wasn’t easy finding work while supporting a sparkling, and as if Cybertron hadn’t scrapped me enough, some of the Mecha from my tribe had tracked us down to take us back.”  She glanced at Ratchet, “that was the day we met.”

 

The medic nodded, contemplating their confusing first encounter.  “So you were hiding from the Mecha outside the clinic.”  She didn’t need to confirm his statement, but there was still something that nagged at his processor about that day.  “Why did you… _kiss_ me then?”

 

A smug grin teased Windsheer’s lips as she looked at him.  “When I first saw you standing there dumb-struck, I knew you’d be the sweetest bot I would ever meet.  So, when the opportunity presented itself, I had to take what I felt was _mine_.”  The femme had scooted closer to Ratchet, her lips already playfully nipping at his jawline.  An enticing shade of red creeped onto the medic’s cheeks.

 

He firmly gripped her shoulders and pulled her away from him.  “So how did you end up fighting in the Pit’s?”

 

The question was partially meant as a diversion of her affections, but Ratchet couldn’t dilute the irritation in his tone.  He hated violence and took pride scolding any bot that came into his clinic after getting into a scuffle with someone else.

 

Disappointed, Windsheer withdrew with a sigh.  “A scout designated Underbite, offered me a job in the arena.  I didn’t even have enough Shanix to buy low-grade for Aerial, so I accepted.  The next thing I know, I’m thrown into a pen with another bot trying to terminate me.”

 

She refused to meet Ratchet’s gaze, “Underbite hadn’t expected me to actually _win_.  So, when I was the one to come out of the arena dripping in energon, he had me sign a contract right away.  He _owns_ me now.  In both life, and death.”

 

Ratchet’s vocalizer rumbled with rage.  She stared at the floor with a calm smile, trying to soothe his rage.  “Yeah I know, I’m an idiot for getting myself mixed up in this scrap.  But it’ll be worth it if Aerial can grow up happy.”

 

Ratchet’s fist hit the table with a loud _thump_.  The table gave under his furry.  His raging blue optics turned flaring at Windsheer’s veered helm.  A servo snatched her chin, gently turning it so she was forced to look at him.  “Quite your job.  You can stay here with Aerial, with _me_.”

 

Her optics cycled out in surprise, before dilating back with frustration.  Her helm shook violently, “I can’t!  Like I said, Underbite _owns_ me.  If I were to break my contract and leave the arena.  I would never be able to rest easy knowing his goons were lurking around the next corner, waiting to snatch up Aerial so she can suffer _my_ punishment!  I couldn’t live with myself if something bad happened to her because of my stupidity!”

 

Coolant was streaming down her cheeks again.  Ratchet couldn’t take it anymore.  His lips drowned hers as he held her to his frame.  A stream of coolant falling from his own optics at the seemingly hopelessness of their situation.  He crushed her tighter with no intent of letting go.  He felt that if he did, she would disappear from his life.

 

So, he just, held her.

 

* * *

 

 

A door at the back of the clinic’s storage room led to Ratchet’s living quarters.  The layout was simply a room that had a berth, a desk, and a wash-rack behind another door.  It was a rare occasion for the medic to be lounging in his own private living space, too busy with his work in the clinic and often opting to recharge on a medical slab rather than to make the tired journey back to his own space.  But it was home enough, and it offered the much needed privacy from Aerial’s innocent presence.

 

Windsheer had her digits entangled with Ratchet’s as she leaned heavily against him.  Content with the contact.  The medic had been more than receptive to her intimate advances in the storage room, but as their arousal grew more… _intense_.  He was the only one with enough sense to move their activities somewhere more private before they woke the sparkling recharging in the next room.

 

But now there was nothing separating Windsheer’s talons from sneaking past his armor and enticing sensitive cables.  Her servos paused in their assault.  Ratchet’s helm had lolled to the side, optics half shuttered, relishing the touches, but now rolled to meet her nervous optics.

 

“Um, are you sure you still want me?” Ratchet’s optics shot open in surprise.  She fidgeted a bit, her bottom lip squeezed between her dentae and her optics glancing to the floor.  Her expression portraying the first flash of bashfulness Ratchet had ever seen her display.  “Even knowing- th-that I’ve been had by others.”

 

Ratchet stared at her stunned, then he got angry, pulling her closer to his chest.  His Servos firmly wrapped around her arms.

 

“You’re kidding me!  You thought-” he stopped, calming his temper before continuing with a soothing tone.  “Did you really think I wouldn’t want you after hearing about what happened to you?  You were just a sparkling, you had no control of that.”

 

He sucked in a breath, watching the conflicted glance she sent him, confirming his suspicions that she might be second guessing her self-value.  He lifted a servo to pull her chin to meet his optics.  “You have been driving my spark _wild_ from the moment I met you.  What happened to you-?”

 

He had to stop to compose himself once more, his tone had become aggressive again.  He met her wavering optics again, willing all the honest and warm feelings that swarmed his spark into his optics.  “What happened wasn’t _your_ fault.  The only thing that matters to me now, is that you’re here, with me.  I absolutely adore you.”

 

Coolant streaked from her optics again, a goofy grin lighting up her features.  But when his servo tried to wipe at her tears, she batted it away, wiping angrily at the moisture.  She chuckled, “just though I might warn you.  It’s not too pretty down there.”

 

Ratchet’s spark ached at that last remark.  How could any bot be so ruthless, she had just been a sparkling!?

 

He pulled her closer still.  He wanted nothing more than to completely wrap her in his arms and ease the pain away.

 

Her servos comfortably clutched his hips, as her lips nibbled at his neck cables.  Ratchet pulled back enough to join his lips to Windsheer’s.  His servos trailing her back struts.  Tracing every line up her back, before returning to their starting point and repeating the action.

 

The femme was far bolder than him.  Her servos reached behind him to grope his aft.  A sigh left her vents as she memorized the metal.  “You have no _idea_ how badly I’ve wanted to grab this!”  Her digits digging possessively into the seams.

 

Ratchet grunted, a bit annoyed, but his servos trailed down past her back, her aft, and instead settled on the back of her thighs.  Windsheer’s arms wound up to encircle his neck, nuzzling his cables as he made to pick her up, her legs wrapped firmly around his hips and her panels brushing his.  She wasn’t nearly as light as her lithe frame made her seem, but he managed to carry her to the neatly made berth and gently lowered her to the covers.  Windsheer’s optics reflected nothing but love and trust as she stared up at him.

 

Ratchet’s spark burst as her limber limbs remained locked to his frame.  Her lips came up to pull at his.  His arms held most of his bulk off her, but he still weighed heavily against her armor as he crushed Windsheer’s lips.  Her legs fell from his hips, sprawling them obscenely wide to accommodate his wider frame.

 

The snap of _both_ of her panels opening pulled him away from her mouth as he glanced down at the mutilated array.  He was horrified to see the dents and scarring on her spike.  He caught Windsheer’s optics veering away uncertainly.

 

Ratchet’s jaw clenched with determination.  He was going to be sure, that after tonight, she would _never_ doubt her desirability again.

 

His lips and servos went to work gracing every inch of her armour with kisses and caresses.  She was panting by the time he starting showering her intimate array with wet affection.  His own spike burned with desire behind his panel as he fisted hers.  His helm now between her legs, he could see the full damage of her valve.

 

The outer mesh torn and scarred from a repetition of forced entry.  His optics watered at the sight.  He placed his lips to the moistening mesh.  Windsheer shuttered violently as he kissed the abused anterior node before lapping at her quivering lips.

 

He suckled gently on the anterior node, before diving his glossa into her warmth.  He gripped her hips gently as she bucked into him.

 

“ _R-Ratchet_.”  The husky whimper of his designation from _her_ lips, was the sweetest sound the medic had ever heard.  It egged him on to delve deeper into her sweet depths.

 

Her servos clutched the back of his helm as he continued to worship her valve with his tongue.  “R-Ratchet, I want to touch you too,” her hips bucked again as his glossa pulled out, dripping with her fluids.  He drew the tip of his glossa along the outer mesh, delighted as she squirmed in his grasp.

 

His panels snapped back to reveal his fully pressurized spike.  Windsheer shuttered again, but her body tensed.  Ratchet was immediately concerned that he had provoked something unpleasant, but realized she just wanted to take control when he was rolled under her.  Windsheer’s shapely legs straddling his hip.

 

Her smile was both triumphant and predatorial as she took in the sight of her long sought prize.  Her roaming optics rested on Ratchet’s still surprised optics, she leaned over him.  One of her servos searching between them to caress his spike.  Her lips hovered over his as she slowly pumped the shaft.

 

“Damn, I’ve completely fallen for you, Ratchet,” and the medic didn’t hold a hint of doubt in her words because her optics, her optics seared him with all the compassion and love on Cybertron.  Maybe even the whole universe!

 

He arched up to pull at her lips with his dentae.  A laugh rumbled in her chest at his blatant eagerness, she mercifully reciprocated by smashing her lips to his.  Ratchet moaned into her mouth as she continued to stroke his spike.  Her other servo reached between his legs to stroke the panel still concealing his valve.

 

A digit knocked politely against the panel, and sure enough, Ratchet opened it to reveal a soaking valve.  Eager digits explored the warmth they found.  Ratchet moaned again as Windsheer’s thumb swiped at his anterior node in time with her other servo as it continued to stroke his shaft.

 

Her glossa curled to caress the roof of his mouth.  He was almost overloaded by the multitude of pleasurable sensations.  Clamping down on the energy, his servos searched for Windsheer’s hips.  Clasping them, he steered them to his spike.

 

He broke their oral connection with a gasp, “I-I want to be inside of you.”

 

Windsheer’s predatorial optics were narrowed with lust as she positioned herself over his spike.  Her scarred valve was dripping with her arousal.  “Ratchet,” his blue optics met her red ones, “I love you.”

 

She didn’t give him the chance to reply as she plunged herself onto his spike in one quick thrust.  She made a sound, bridging on a scream, and for the briefest second, Ratchet could see discomfort mar her facial features.  He realized with horror, that she must have also suffered internal damage from her previous abuse.

 

He cringed, faulting himself for not considering the pain interfacing could cause her after the former abusive treatment she had had.  He moved to stop her, but both of his servos were pinned above his helm before her could reach for her.  “Please, don’t,” Windsheer’s optics burned into his as she began to move.  “Please, I need this.  I need _you_ , Ratchet.”

 

Any argument he had, was lost to the pleading look she gave him as she shifted on his spike.  She angled her hips for deeper penetration before picking up the pace.  Her optics were red slits, her lids weighed down by her overpowering lust as she gyrated her hips over his spike, eliciting an agonizing moan from Ratchet as she hammered down onto his spike.

 

She slammed down on his spike fully, pausing as his fluids burst inside of her.  A pleased smile pulled at her lips at Ratchet’s overload.  She languidly bounced a few times more, helping him to ride out the last of his bursts, but as the haze of the charge began to clear from Ratchet’s optics.  He realized she hadn’t overloaded yet.

 

She moved to relieve his spent spike of her clenching valve, but Ratchet shifted so that he topped the femme.  “Don’t think I’m letting you go without returning the favor.”  He drifted down her frame to adorn her slick valve with kisses and nibbles, all while lavishing her burning spike with gently caresses.

 

His digits pushed tenderly past her valve opening, stroking her inner walls as he took her spike’s tip in his mouth.  Tracing the tip with his glossa.  Windsheer’s vocalizer spouted static as her calipers _finally_ collapsed around Ratchet’s digits, and her spike burst in his mouth.  He swallowed and lapped at the fluids smearing her abdomen.

 

Her tired frame arching into his mouth as he pulled himself back up to her face, kissing her fiercely as his frame slouched onto hers.  Pinning her firmly to the berth.

 

Windsheer’s weak arms were clasped firmly around his neck, and she broke their kiss to swirl her tongue lovingly over Ratchet’s audial.  “I love you,” she whispered.

 

Her optics were a warm glow as she pulled back to stare up at Ratchet’s equally loving gaze.  He kissed the tip of her nose.  “I _adore_ you,” he growled peppering her faceplates with kisses.

 

He planted another kiss to her lips, lingering for just a moment before adjusting himself around her.  Comfortably clutching her to his chest so he could stare at her gorgeous face as he slipped into a sweet recharge.  Windsheer’s optics stayed online for most of the night, engraving his every feature into her processor.

 

Her spark twisted painfully and silent tears streamed down her cheeks as she snuggled closer to his warmth.  Unconsciously, Ratchet’s arms pulled her closer as she quietly sobbed into his chest.

 

“I don’t want to leave,” her vocalizer choked out as her digits curled desperately around her sleeping lover.  What she had feared for so long had come to pass.  She was desperately in love with Ratchet, and wanted nothing more than to bond her spark to his and live an eternity by his side.  And now, she was plagued with the certainty that he felt the same way.

 

But she was all too aware, that her domestic dream to live safely and to always protect her sister and her love, was one that was unattainable.  Her fate would be decided in the arena, and her only saving grace, was knowing that Ratchet would undoubtedly open his home and heart to her little sister once she was gone.

 

Her breathing stilled as she fell into the calmest recharge she had had in her life.

* * *

 


	14. A Good Morning

* * *

Ratchet woke to an unfamiliar warm sensation filling his berth.  A frame was tucked snugly under his chin and arms wrapped securely around his middle.  Ratchet made no movement to escape the encapturing hold, but his chronometer warned him of the late morning hour.  He would have to escape from the beautiful femme in his arms at one point to attend his clinic.

                                                                                                        

Windsheer’s face nuzzled his chest as she snuggled closer, desperately clinging to his armor.  He knew he would have to get up eventually, but he would stay an hour longer to attend his _patient_.  Or so he would claim if any bot had the nerve to reprimand his absence.

 

His servo found a relaxed back plating to fondle as he scanned Windsheer’s frame.  His optics settling on her relaxed face.  They narrowed as he glanced the tell-tale sign of dried coolant on her cheeks.  Using his other servo, his digits rubbed at the streaks.

 

His lips were pulled in a scowl when Windsheer’s optics slowly came online.  She started, but relaxed as she registered the Mech sharing the berth with her.  Her optics trailed up to his face, her lips pulling into a content smile at his disapproving look.

 

“You know, I’ve always wondered if you did just wake up grouchy.  Guess I was right,” her soft lips pressed into the firm line of his mouth, but when he didn’t give, she pulled back to stare at him questioningly.

 

His optics were stern as he swiped his thumb along the trail of dried-coolant.  Ratchet’s servo leveled with her face to show her the flakes.  Her questioning look grew more quizzical as her digits brushed her cheeks.  Her optics grew with understanding, the weary look in her optics was brief as a brilliant smile encompassed her face.

 

“I guess I cried with how happy I was last night,” she said.  It was an obvious lie.

 

Ratchet’s scowl deepened with the offending false pretenses.  “Why do you do that?”

 

Her smile didn’t falter as she looked at him, her eyes crinkled, understanding what he was referring to.  “I’m not entirely sure anymore.”

 

Her guard dropped, and she placed another kiss to his lips.  This time, he returned the sentiment.  A reward for her honesty.

 

She was soon peppering his faceplates with affection and dragging her frame into his lap, her long legs straddling his middle.  A servo crawled up his heating frame, and her digits nicked the crevices of his plating.

 

Her lips were nibbling his jaw.  Sighing contently, she let her helm drop to his chassis, listening to his thundering spark beat.  “I’ve wanted to wake up with you in my arms for a _long_ time.”

 

Ratchet’s servos trailed down her back to rest at the dip of her waist, swiping soothing circles in the relaxed plating.  “I _do_ love you.”

 

Her frame melted with his words as she laid herself flat against his body, humming contently.  Ratchet took a chance and groped her aft.  He had also been waiting to grab hers for a long time.

 

She smirked and tilted her hips into his hold and braced her chassis and servos to his front.  “If I had known you were interested, I would have consented sooner.”

 

Her hips circled back down, grazing her heated panels against his.  His hips surged up, trying to relieve the tension with some friction.  But she chose that moment to leap out of his grasp, a tease to entice him further.

 

The sudden bareness of the berth left Ratchet with a lonely feeling, but that feeling was quickly squashed as he watched the seductive femme sashay to the door.  His eyes glowered with want as he spotted the dried residue of their intimacy trailing down her thighs.  Fresh fluids trickled down her shapely thighs as some the trans-fluid leaked through her valve panel.  _Primus_ , this femme, no, this _demon_ was going to burn his circuits out!

 

Ratchet rushed out of bed to wrap his arms around her waist as her servo lifted to the access panel.  “Where do you think you’re going looking like _that_?”  He growled into her audials.  A possessive servo was groping the inside of her thighs; trailing the mess before boldly taking hold of her scorching valve panel.

 

Palming the heat, he purred with satisfaction when it snapped away.  His digits were quick to assault the moist mesh.  “Let me help you clean up.”

 

He pulled her away from the door, enticing a delightful gasp from Windsheer as his digits delved deeper into her warmth.

 

Ratchet steered the femme to the wash-racks’ door behind them.  Shoving her beneath the shower head before fixing the dials for a warm solvent spray.  He set about cleaning Windsheer’s frame while her curious servos explored his every nook and cranny.

 

It was the best morning Ratchet had ever woken up to.  He didn’t even feel grouchy about the work day ahead of him.

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully not, but the next chapter might come out a little late. (I have enough school work to fill a pool and swim in for fun!) Other than that, I hope you enjoy this story and love ya!

**Author's Note:**

> I also wanted to add, that this story was heavily inspired by ros3bud009's fic Knocked Out. I absolutely adored the sweetness of her piece!


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